


Butterflies

by richmahogany



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3345581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richmahogany/pseuds/richmahogany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her friend thinks she is dating the most boring man in New York City, but Grace believes she has finally met someone who really"gets" her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Birds in the sky you know how I feel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708766) by [richmahogany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/richmahogany/pseuds/richmahogany). 



> A little love just in time for Valentine's Day. Companion piece to Birds in the sky you know how I feel, but you don't have to have read that one.

Grace stood at the kitchen window with her mug of coffee and looked into the bright sunshine. It was a beautiful day, but even if the weather had been miserable, she would have been on a high. Yesterday she had been on her third date with Harold. It had been the last thing she thought of when she fell asleep, and it had been the first thing on her mind when she woke up this morning. By now she was almost certain that she was falling in love. There was one sure sign that would confirm the condition: butterflies tickling her insides. She thought back to last night. After their meal at an Italian restaurant and several after-dinner coffees, Harold had taken her home, like he had after their previous dates. She knew that he would wait until she was safely inside before making his own way home. There was something of an old-fashioned gentleman about Harold, which she found amusing and endearing at the same time. But yesterday there had been the moment that was foremost on her mind. When they said good-bye, they had looked at each other, and Grace had suddenly found herself wishing that he would kiss her. But she knew that he was probably too shy to do it even if he wanted to, and so she had taken the initiative and quickly pressed her lips against his cheek. He had looked slightly shocked, but not in a bad way. She had retreated inside before either of them could become embarrassed. And that’s where things stood now.

Grace closed her eyes and thought back to that moment. Yes, there were definitely butterflies. It really was love, then. Funny, she thought, because he really isn’t my type. Her previous boyfriends had been artists like herself, unconventional, bohemian types, people who moved in the same circles as she did and who could be expected to be on the same wavelength. Her last boyfriend in particular had been a very passionate lover – so much so that she sometimes felt a bit overwhelmed by his passion. As an artist, she had thought that he truly understood her, and that he had as much appreciation for her work as she had for his. A mistake, as it turned out. Ultimately, he had only been interested in himself, and in what she could give him. He hadn’t taken her seriously as a fellow artist, he only wanted her as a lover, and that was not enough for her. They had broken up years ago, and while she had been on a couple of dates in the meantime, she hadn’t really “clicked” with anyone.

And now Harold had come along, who was so different to anyone else she knew. Far from being artistic and bohemian, he seemed to be utterly conventional and unremarkable. Always dressed in a suit and tie, he was formal and polite, with old-fashioned good manners – well, he was quite a bit older that she was. She thought he was probably pushing fifty. All this could easily have put her off, but she had quickly realised that he was only conventional on the surface, and that he wasn’t cold and distant in his politeness, he was warm and friendly with it. He had a deep appreciation for art and literature, and could talk about them with a true interest and understanding. Grace had never thought it of someone who was so far removed from her usual circles, but it seemed that she had much more in common with Harold than with some people she counted as friends.

She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had let her coffee get cold. She made fresh coffee, put it into her insulated mug, and left the house.

***

The meeting with the publisher had dragged on for longer than she had anticipated, but it was worth it – she got the commission. Now she was hurrying towards the diner where she had arranged to meet her friend Marie for lunch.

Marie was there already, of course, exhibiting all signs of impatience. She barely waited until Grace had taken the first bite of her salad, until she demanded: “Alright, girlfriend – now spill!”

Grace smiled. “Spill what?”

“Oh, don’t be so mysterious! I want to know all about that new man you’ve been dating! So, what’s he like? Tall, dark and handsome?”

“Actually, none of the above.”

“What, short and ugly then?”

“No, of course not! I don’t really know, he’s difficult to describe…”

“What does he do, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know, something with computers.”

“Huh! A computer nerd. Is he a programmer or what?”

“No, I think he’s a…what d’you call them…systems administrator or something like that.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Marie said sarcastically, “seeing as you are so into computers. So what do you two talk about?”

“Well, he likes Dickens, actually,” retorted Grace.

“Aha! No wonder you’re sold on him. Don’t tell me he likes that creepy painting with the tower as well?”

“As a matter of fact, he does. Along with a great number of other paintings. And books. And films. So you see, we actually have a lot to talk about.”

“Well, I would have thought that by now you maybe had better things to do than talk?”

Marie waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Grace blushed.

“No! He’s not like that. We’ve only been on three dates anyway, and…”

“Exactly! Three dates already! If I can’t get a guy into my bed by the third date, I know he’s not worth the effort.”

Grace blushed even deeper. Marie could be very direct sometimes.

“Oh, don’t tell me,” she exclaimed now, “he hasn’t even kissed you yet, has he?”

“I kissed him,” Grace mumbled, still highly embarrassed. “But only on the cheek…”

Marie stared at her. “Congratulations – you’ve found the only guy in New York who is even more prudish than you.”

But she had spoken without malice, and Grace knew that underneath her friend’s sarcastic manner was real affection for her.

“You’re still not really telling me anything,” Marie complained now. “What’s he really like? Is he interesting? Adventurous? Nerdy? Funny? Does he make you laugh? What??”

Grace shook her head with a smile, but in truth she didn’t really know what to say. What was Harold like? Well, he was quiet, thoughtful, serious…all things that equated to “boring” in Marie’s book. He did silence well – that was one of the things that attracted her. When there was a lull in the conversation, a moment when they both needed to think, he didn’t feel that he had to fill that gap with chatter, nor did he look to her for non-stop entertainment. With him, those silences were never uncomfortable. He would just give her one of his shy, sweet smiles, which always caused her heart to do a little backflip. But how could you explain the attraction to someone like Marie, whose favorite kind of guy was the life-and-soul-of-the-party type?

“We’ve only been on three dates,” she tried to defend herself, “I’ve only known him for a few weeks! We talk a lot, and we really have so much in common. I just feel that he truly likes me for what I am. He really ‘gets’ me, you know.”

Her mind flashed back to their first meeting. After his offer of ice cream, which she laughingly turned down, Harold had explained that he had watched her paint and that he was curious to see her picture. He had looked at it for a couple of minutes, apparently in deep thought.

“Interesting,” he had said then, “the way you’ve taken in the skyscrapers and the trees.”

“I only paint what I see,” she had replied, not knowing what he meant.

“Yes, but it’s not only what you see, it’s how you see it,” he had countered. “You could have concentrated on the towerblocks, if you’re into architecture and the urban landscape. Or you could have emphasized the trees, if you’re more into nature, and ignored the buildings. Or, if you have both, I guess many people would have seen the man-made environment encroaching on nature and taking it away – you know, ‘Big Yellow Taxi’ and all that. But you’ve portrayed them in harmony. In your picture, they both have a right to be here, and they work together, not against each other.”

Grace had been rather stunned. This was exactly what she had felt, but she couldn’t have put it into words like that.

“It’s true,” she had said, “I like both, the skyscrapers and the trees. I like living in the city, but I’m also glad that we have so many green spaces. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I guess it comes through in my picture.” And from there the conversation had flowed for quite a while, and it had ended with Harold asking her out on what would become their first date. She was surprised at herself – she wasn’t in the habit of talking extensively to strangers in the park, even harmless-looking ones like Harold. But because he had understood her painting, she had felt an instant connection with him, and that feeling had only deepened with every subsequent meeting.

She startled when Marie waved her hand in front of her face.

“Hellooo! Earth to Ms Hendricks! Anybody home?”

Grace came back to the present and apologized.

“By the way,” Marie said, “what were you doing at ‘Marina’s’ yesterday? I saw you talking to some guy, but it was so crowded I couldn’t get to you, and then you were gone.”

“That’s where we went, Harold and me, after the restaurant.”

Marie’s eyes widened.

“That was him? Little guy in a suit, with glasses? I thought he was your accountant or something like that.”

She took her glass and raised it: “Harold, eh? Well, here’s to Harold: may he turn out to be everything you hope him to be.”

Grace smiled and raised her glass as well. “I’ll drink to that.”

***

When Grace came home, she emptied her mailbox and was surprised to find an envelope with nothing but her name on it. She opened it and pulled out a card with a beautiful Italian Renaissance painting on the front. Inside was only a brief message, written in an elegant script:

“If you would like to visit the Fra Angelico exhibition with me, meet me at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Sunday at 2 pm. H.”

She had very much wanted to see that exhibition, but she had heard about it too late to get tickets. How had Harold managed to get two tickets when they had been sold out for weeks? Of course she wanted to go with him. She was happy to get the chance, and it would be even more delightful to see the exhibition with Harold. In her mind’s eye she saw herself with him, taking in picture after picture, listening to him recount the history of each one (he was always so knowledgeable about everything), he listening in turn to what the painting meant to her, his hand lightly touching her arm as he drew her attention to some detail…

Suddenly she felt a flutter in her stomach. The butterflies were back.


End file.
